 |
| Taken by N. Y. after midnight as I pumped gas, lost in the Appalachians. |
9.19.2011
"The Drunkard's Progress" - Part 2: The Vie Libre Movement
At the time Vie Libre was chartered, in 1954 (Vie Libre 2011b), French understandings of alcohol and alcoholism were still predominantly in line with 19th-century beliefs, specifically about the health effects of wine consumption. In 1948, for instance, a poll revealed that 85% of those polled believed that wine was good for the health, while 79% believed it was “nourishing”; as late as 1955, 80% believed this still (Prestwich 1988: 261, 20). Since 1900, wine, beer and cider had been classified as “hygienic drinks,” considered beneficial by doctors, even to the point of being a useful means of lowering rates of alcoholism, which was presumed to be caused by the low quality of “industrial” (distilled) alcohol, specifically, rather than the quantity of alcohol consumed. Beyond the medical legitimacy given to wine, it was tied to the French imaginary in a very real way, with lobbyists and retail groups forging a strong link to both the national tradition and a uniquely “French” style of inebriation, which was cheerful and intelligent. Those who called for anti-alcoholism legislation, or those involved in temperance activism (which in France almost always called for moderation, rather than abstinence), were caricatured as absolute teetotallers who were un-French. Conveying both popular and medical opinion of the time, Henry Turpin, a spokesman on behalf of the alcohol industry, said in 1901:
In our beautiful France, a country of wine, joy, openness, and good humour, let us not talk about abstinence. Your water, your Lenten drinks, your Ceylon tea, fig or acorn coffee, your sparkling milk, your lemonade and camomile be hanged. You are not only bad hygienists, but bad Frenchmen. (ibid.: 24)
Into this hostile social milieu, Vie Libre sprang forth in a spirit of defiant opposition; it hardly seems accidental that group members ritually drink glasses of water at meetings (Fainzang 1996) and that slang for “teetotallers” is “buveurs d’eau” ("water drinkers"; Prestwich 1988: 24). At the time of its founding, however, things were beginning to change. It had been almost a decade since the state took on the burden of public health care, which forced a gradual recognition of the financial toll of chronic alcohol consumption on the state. By 1954, this knowledge was being used to argue against the once-universal assumption that alcohol production brought wealth to the nation; in that year, a report of the Economic Council on alcoholism made the strong claim that, instead of psychological problems or poverty, alcoholism was being caused by the overproduction of wine and distilled alcohol (ibid.: 264). The movement’s beginnings, then, were at a time of imminent change in official opinion, even if popular sentiments were lagging.
Vie Libre started under the guiding hands of Father André-Marie Talvas, who had once played a formative role for France’s militant workers as chaplain of the Jeunesse Ouvrière Chrétienne (“Young Christian Workers”), and Germaine Campion, who had once been an alcoholic and sex worker (Fainzang 1992; Fainzang 1996). They were later joined, in 1951, by the Amicale de 147, a group of recovered alcoholics, led by a disulfiram-prescribing[1] doctor, all of whom had been treated at the clinic operated by the Ligue nationale contre l’alcoolisme (“National League Against Alcoholism,” henceforth “LNCA”), the national-level umbrella group under whose mantle numerous once-independent anti-alcoholism factions operated (Prestwich 1988; Room 1998). When chartered in 1954, then, the core members brought with them a tradition of worker-based activism, direct experience with the marginalized, including alcoholics and prostitutes, and a commitment to the belief that alcoholism was curable. Perhaps due to their experience with the most alienated and vulnerable, and as likely due to their militant opposition to an alcohol-biased society and the compromises made by other anti-alcoholism groups[2], Vie Libre called for absolute abstinence from its core members. Finally, the influence of a doctor and the use of disulfiram set a precedent for a close working relationship with the medical authorities and a pragmatic use of care options, which persists to this day.
The structure of the movement reflects in part its unionist or syndicalist origins. The smallest Vie Libre groups consist of a minimum of three former drinkers, and are free to determine the schedule of their meetings, the particular style their meetings take (there is some variety, with some groups even segregated by gender), the subjects of discussion, etc. These local sections are organized into regional sections, which usually have a “core team” consisting of a president (and assistant president), secretary (and assistant), treasurer (and assistant) and a communications/information coordinator, who disseminates relevant journal articles, group publications, etc. Finally, these regional sections are guided by the national committee, which consists of elected members who have been sober for at least four years. (Fainzang 1996)
The group’s members are classified according to their relation to alcohol, and are given coloured cards that signify their classification: new members have a six-month period of abstinence before they are given their “pink card,” which is indicates full membership; pink cards are awarded to both cured drinkers (those who have abstained for at least six months) and their spouses, who are considered to suffer from the same illness and so are also asked to maintain abstinence (more on this below); finally, the groups include non-alcoholic sympathisers who needn’t choose abstinence and are given a green card – sympathisers usually include doctors, politicians, or academics. “Pink card” members are predominantly lower-middle class, including masons, shop-owners, factory workers, office workers, salesmen, servers, cleaning women, and police officers (ibid.). Compared to A. A. in France, Vie Libre has a higher proportion of older, married members, who are predominantly male, with women making up about 5% of membership (Room 1998). It’s beyond the scope of this paper to outline the progression of the group’s policies and prerogatives; readers interested should see the Vie Libre web site’s “Histoire du mouvement Vie Libre et explications de ses positions” (“History of the Vie Libre Movement and Explanations of its Positions”; 2011). For our purposes here, it suffices to note that the group’s key tenets remain: 1) the power of the group is a necessary support for the drinker who has been enslaved; 2) the group’s work is militancy, guided by their theory of the illness and its causes; 3) the group must have close collaboration with doctors and medical centres in hospitals; and 4) there is a cure for alcoholism (Fainzang 1996). Militancy is the central idea here, as it is what allows for the wielding of the group’s power for the sake of individuals, the use of medical knowledge for their recovery and for the education of the public, and the fight for a cure (which is, in their view, social change). Their militancy has two dimensions: support for drinkers, which consists of visits to schools, hospitals, places of work, and prisons to provide information and counseling; and the general social struggle, which consists of educational campaigns, calls for legislative reform, literacy training for movement volunteers, and above all, abstinence, which is considered a rejection of a social enemy (Fainzang 1996; Vie Libre 2011a).
In our beautiful France, a country of wine, joy, openness, and good humour, let us not talk about abstinence. Your water, your Lenten drinks, your Ceylon tea, fig or acorn coffee, your sparkling milk, your lemonade and camomile be hanged. You are not only bad hygienists, but bad Frenchmen. (ibid.: 24)
Into this hostile social milieu, Vie Libre sprang forth in a spirit of defiant opposition; it hardly seems accidental that group members ritually drink glasses of water at meetings (Fainzang 1996) and that slang for “teetotallers” is “buveurs d’eau” ("water drinkers"; Prestwich 1988: 24). At the time of its founding, however, things were beginning to change. It had been almost a decade since the state took on the burden of public health care, which forced a gradual recognition of the financial toll of chronic alcohol consumption on the state. By 1954, this knowledge was being used to argue against the once-universal assumption that alcohol production brought wealth to the nation; in that year, a report of the Economic Council on alcoholism made the strong claim that, instead of psychological problems or poverty, alcoholism was being caused by the overproduction of wine and distilled alcohol (ibid.: 264). The movement’s beginnings, then, were at a time of imminent change in official opinion, even if popular sentiments were lagging.
Vie Libre started under the guiding hands of Father André-Marie Talvas, who had once played a formative role for France’s militant workers as chaplain of the Jeunesse Ouvrière Chrétienne (“Young Christian Workers”), and Germaine Campion, who had once been an alcoholic and sex worker (Fainzang 1992; Fainzang 1996). They were later joined, in 1951, by the Amicale de 147, a group of recovered alcoholics, led by a disulfiram-prescribing[1] doctor, all of whom had been treated at the clinic operated by the Ligue nationale contre l’alcoolisme (“National League Against Alcoholism,” henceforth “LNCA”), the national-level umbrella group under whose mantle numerous once-independent anti-alcoholism factions operated (Prestwich 1988; Room 1998). When chartered in 1954, then, the core members brought with them a tradition of worker-based activism, direct experience with the marginalized, including alcoholics and prostitutes, and a commitment to the belief that alcoholism was curable. Perhaps due to their experience with the most alienated and vulnerable, and as likely due to their militant opposition to an alcohol-biased society and the compromises made by other anti-alcoholism groups[2], Vie Libre called for absolute abstinence from its core members. Finally, the influence of a doctor and the use of disulfiram set a precedent for a close working relationship with the medical authorities and a pragmatic use of care options, which persists to this day.
The structure of the movement reflects in part its unionist or syndicalist origins. The smallest Vie Libre groups consist of a minimum of three former drinkers, and are free to determine the schedule of their meetings, the particular style their meetings take (there is some variety, with some groups even segregated by gender), the subjects of discussion, etc. These local sections are organized into regional sections, which usually have a “core team” consisting of a president (and assistant president), secretary (and assistant), treasurer (and assistant) and a communications/information coordinator, who disseminates relevant journal articles, group publications, etc. Finally, these regional sections are guided by the national committee, which consists of elected members who have been sober for at least four years. (Fainzang 1996)
The group’s members are classified according to their relation to alcohol, and are given coloured cards that signify their classification: new members have a six-month period of abstinence before they are given their “pink card,” which is indicates full membership; pink cards are awarded to both cured drinkers (those who have abstained for at least six months) and their spouses, who are considered to suffer from the same illness and so are also asked to maintain abstinence (more on this below); finally, the groups include non-alcoholic sympathisers who needn’t choose abstinence and are given a green card – sympathisers usually include doctors, politicians, or academics. “Pink card” members are predominantly lower-middle class, including masons, shop-owners, factory workers, office workers, salesmen, servers, cleaning women, and police officers (ibid.). Compared to A. A. in France, Vie Libre has a higher proportion of older, married members, who are predominantly male, with women making up about 5% of membership (Room 1998). It’s beyond the scope of this paper to outline the progression of the group’s policies and prerogatives; readers interested should see the Vie Libre web site’s “Histoire du mouvement Vie Libre et explications de ses positions” (“History of the Vie Libre Movement and Explanations of its Positions”; 2011). For our purposes here, it suffices to note that the group’s key tenets remain: 1) the power of the group is a necessary support for the drinker who has been enslaved; 2) the group’s work is militancy, guided by their theory of the illness and its causes; 3) the group must have close collaboration with doctors and medical centres in hospitals; and 4) there is a cure for alcoholism (Fainzang 1996). Militancy is the central idea here, as it is what allows for the wielding of the group’s power for the sake of individuals, the use of medical knowledge for their recovery and for the education of the public, and the fight for a cure (which is, in their view, social change). Their militancy has two dimensions: support for drinkers, which consists of visits to schools, hospitals, places of work, and prisons to provide information and counseling; and the general social struggle, which consists of educational campaigns, calls for legislative reform, literacy training for movement volunteers, and above all, abstinence, which is considered a rejection of a social enemy (Fainzang 1996; Vie Libre 2011a).
[1] Disulfiram is a pharmaceutical that causes prohibitively acute sensitivity to alcohol, often prescribed under the trade name Antabuse.
[2] For instance, the LNCA called for moderation, and made no criticism of the consumption of wine, beer and cider, believing this middle road to be the most practical policy (Prestwich 1988).
9.12.2011
"The Drunkard's Progress" - Part 1: Placing the Blame, Some Epistemological Caveats
Placing the Blame
In her account of French portrayals of drunkenness (1991), Véronique Nahoum-Grappe recounts a 13th-century moral tale from Provence: In a fit of anger, a monk tells his superior that he wishes him dead. As punishment, the superior tells the monk that he must either drink alcohol, fornicate with a woman, or murder a man; the monk is free to choose from amongst these three wrongs. Thinking he is choosing the least of the three, the monk gets drunk. Crazed by drink, he flirts with a woman, eventually ravishing her, at which time the woman’s husband discovers them. Confronted by the man, the monk kills him, thus inadvertently committing all three evils after having willingly indulged in only the one. The moral, it seems, is clear: regardless of one’s intentions, the decision to get drunk pushes one onto a slippery slope towards evil. The question, though, is whether the monk is responsible, in the eyes of the law and his God, for his wrongdoing. Is he less so because of his lack of intention, his compromised reason, and the irrationality of his violence? Or does the fact of his sobriety at the time he chose to drink, the fact of its having been a decision made when he was of clear mind, make him responsible for all of his actions? Finally, a question that seems to sit slightly to the side of the first two, or beyond them: Does the fact that he was told to drink, that his drinking, while intentional, was a choice made of three awful options, reduce his culpability? Is his superior not as much or more to blame?
The work you are reading is an attempt to outline some of the ways in which these questions have been answered by a group of former drinkers in France called Vie Libre, “Free Life,” a support group with a very specific conception of alcoholism and its relation to society. Their focus is the illness (I follow the group’s doctrine in using this term), its origins, its causes, the forces responsible for its perpetuation and the ways in which individuals can fight against it. Though their concern is chronic drinking, rather than the sort of binge undertaken by the ill-fated monk, the issues at stake are the same: who is ultimately responsible for the drinker’s condition, actions and recovery?
The answer to this question is complicated by the practical difficulties of accessing and modeling the beliefs and organizing principles of a heterogeneous group of people, unified partly by adherence to a formalized group doctrine but also drawn apart by idiosyncratic interpretations of this doctrine and the numerous ways it can be put into practice. With that in mind, this paper will focus on the doctrine itself, the comparatively formalized way in which it has been interpreted, integrated and contested by its adherents (as explored and theorized by French anthropologist Sylvie Fainzang, the foremost ethnographic authority on the group), and the various continuities and discontinuities this doctrine has with the broader social context, both historical and contemporary. For the moment, then, constrained by my present reliance on literature rather than fieldwork, I will have to bracket certain questions, the most interesting (to me) being: how do group members balance competing or alternative models of alcoholism, holding them simultaneously or sequentially “in their heads” while tactically employing one or the other, situation by situation? It is my hope that this restraint in focus will allow for a more thorough exploration of the central question that I shall address here: for Vie Libre and its members, who is responsible for an individual’s alcohol dependence?
Some Epistemological Caveats
Michael Lambek, through his range of ethnographic studies and as summed up in his article How To Make Up One’s Mind (2010), points to the ways in which the unified coherence and boundedness of the individual – that is, the unity of reason and its direct and determining relationship with action – that is presumed in Western discourse is fractured, particularly through spirit possession. He notes the importance of decisiveness, consistency and constancy to Western conceptions of mind and ethical accountability. Webb Keane (2010) ties this view to the creedal and evangelistic moral universe, which followed the northern Reformation and had its apex in the Enlightenment, in which one’s moral agency depends upon the ability to reason and deliberate, to give explanations for one’s actions; in short, to be able to “objectify” one’s reasons or justifications in propositional form, and so to make them available for ethical evaluation. Yet human experience, in Western society as in all others, regularly falls short of this ideal, whether through the hidden machinery of the individual subconscious, the penetrating or structuring effects of social structure, or whatever relation might hold between them.[1] As a result, coherent accounts or explanations of one’s actions (“objectifications” of experience) are often constructive in that they contribute to the sense of there being an enduring and deliberate agent at their root, which in turn enters into later objectifications; as noted by Keane, “People are shaped as publicly known moral characters over the course of their interactions with others – this becomes part of the frame through which subsequent actions are interpreted” (2010: 75). This framing is an important part of social life, but this shouldn’t block our sensitivity to that which lies out of frame: the irrational, the inexplicable, that which is beyond the reach of post hoc explanation and doesn’t fit into these constructive accounts.
In an earlier examination of Alcoholics Anonymous (Pettit 2011), I found a tendency in the sociological literature about the movement to overemphasize the “drunkalogue” (Rudy 1986), each individual’s highly structured and moralizing account of their chronic drinking trajectory. Often, studies of members’ conversion to the tenets of the group took for granted that individuals adopted the A. A. model of alcoholism as a piece, that this adoption was profound and wholly altered their understanding of their drinking past, and that the members’ ritualized public story-telling serves as proof of this deep change (e.g. Cain 1991; Rudy 1986; Yeung 2007). Yet the tension between such moral accounts and the simultaneously held belief that alcoholism is an organic illness (which mitigates one’s responsibility and so strips one’s biography of its incriminating moral dimension) suggests an obscured ambivalence between what is said and what is, at least at times, deeply felt. Similarly, Valverde (1998) notes that, while the movement’s doctrine and the public “drunkalogue” emphasize a change of identity and a shift in consciously-held self-perceptions, the mottos, posters and conversational advice that permeate one’s experience in the program are largely based on the tradition of American pragmatism, which focuses on habit as opposed to identity, and the importance of repeated and quotidian efforts as opposed to single, dramatic moments of deep conversion. It is my belief that a focus on ethical objectifications, in particular the “drunkalogue,” has excluded issues of great importance, particularly the deep ambivalence and doubts of members, as well as the enormously important (though less spectacular) daily practice in which group members involve themselves. In the introduction to Illness and Irony, Lambek writes:
This is the caveat I want to stress here: that a study of Vie Libre’s doctrinal model, while useful, mustn’t be taken as exhaustively or authoritatively representative of the wealth of the individual members’ experience of alcohol dependence, their understanding of its etiology or treatment, nor the balance of values and considerations that enter into individual treatment pathways. It is my hope that this present work will help measure the span between doctrinal model and individual interpretation, without appearing to close it. I note this not as an effort to hedge my bets, but because I believe it is vital to the study of this subject; taking for granted either the bounded, rational unity of members-as-agents or the immediate proximity of doctrinal and individual conceptions of alcoholism will prevent a proper understanding of the dynamics of blame and responsibility within Vie Libre.
[1] As theorized, for instance, by Avery Gordon (1997), who pointed to the ways in which repressed forces bear significant impact on social life, or Judith Butler’s (1997) reflections on the ways in which subjection always falls short of social roles and norms, causing gaps or slippage that language must gloss over.
Michael Lambek, through his range of ethnographic studies and as summed up in his article How To Make Up One’s Mind (2010), points to the ways in which the unified coherence and boundedness of the individual – that is, the unity of reason and its direct and determining relationship with action – that is presumed in Western discourse is fractured, particularly through spirit possession. He notes the importance of decisiveness, consistency and constancy to Western conceptions of mind and ethical accountability. Webb Keane (2010) ties this view to the creedal and evangelistic moral universe, which followed the northern Reformation and had its apex in the Enlightenment, in which one’s moral agency depends upon the ability to reason and deliberate, to give explanations for one’s actions; in short, to be able to “objectify” one’s reasons or justifications in propositional form, and so to make them available for ethical evaluation. Yet human experience, in Western society as in all others, regularly falls short of this ideal, whether through the hidden machinery of the individual subconscious, the penetrating or structuring effects of social structure, or whatever relation might hold between them.[1] As a result, coherent accounts or explanations of one’s actions (“objectifications” of experience) are often constructive in that they contribute to the sense of there being an enduring and deliberate agent at their root, which in turn enters into later objectifications; as noted by Keane, “People are shaped as publicly known moral characters over the course of their interactions with others – this becomes part of the frame through which subsequent actions are interpreted” (2010: 75). This framing is an important part of social life, but this shouldn’t block our sensitivity to that which lies out of frame: the irrational, the inexplicable, that which is beyond the reach of post hoc explanation and doesn’t fit into these constructive accounts.
In an earlier examination of Alcoholics Anonymous (Pettit 2011), I found a tendency in the sociological literature about the movement to overemphasize the “drunkalogue” (Rudy 1986), each individual’s highly structured and moralizing account of their chronic drinking trajectory. Often, studies of members’ conversion to the tenets of the group took for granted that individuals adopted the A. A. model of alcoholism as a piece, that this adoption was profound and wholly altered their understanding of their drinking past, and that the members’ ritualized public story-telling serves as proof of this deep change (e.g. Cain 1991; Rudy 1986; Yeung 2007). Yet the tension between such moral accounts and the simultaneously held belief that alcoholism is an organic illness (which mitigates one’s responsibility and so strips one’s biography of its incriminating moral dimension) suggests an obscured ambivalence between what is said and what is, at least at times, deeply felt. Similarly, Valverde (1998) notes that, while the movement’s doctrine and the public “drunkalogue” emphasize a change of identity and a shift in consciously-held self-perceptions, the mottos, posters and conversational advice that permeate one’s experience in the program are largely based on the tradition of American pragmatism, which focuses on habit as opposed to identity, and the importance of repeated and quotidian efforts as opposed to single, dramatic moments of deep conversion. It is my belief that a focus on ethical objectifications, in particular the “drunkalogue,” has excluded issues of great importance, particularly the deep ambivalence and doubts of members, as well as the enormously important (though less spectacular) daily practice in which group members involve themselves. In the introduction to Illness and Irony, Lambek writes:
Thought and agency run up against constraints, external ones of fate and circumstance and internal ones of ignorance, confusion, and contradiction. External and internal constraints on knowledge force us to speak with an assurance we do not have. (2003: 5)
This is the caveat I want to stress here: that a study of Vie Libre’s doctrinal model, while useful, mustn’t be taken as exhaustively or authoritatively representative of the wealth of the individual members’ experience of alcohol dependence, their understanding of its etiology or treatment, nor the balance of values and considerations that enter into individual treatment pathways. It is my hope that this present work will help measure the span between doctrinal model and individual interpretation, without appearing to close it. I note this not as an effort to hedge my bets, but because I believe it is vital to the study of this subject; taking for granted either the bounded, rational unity of members-as-agents or the immediate proximity of doctrinal and individual conceptions of alcoholism will prevent a proper understanding of the dynamics of blame and responsibility within Vie Libre.
[1] As theorized, for instance, by Avery Gordon (1997), who pointed to the ways in which repressed forces bear significant impact on social life, or Judith Butler’s (1997) reflections on the ways in which subjection always falls short of social roles and norms, causing gaps or slippage that language must gloss over.
Summer's end, so another Babstock poem to quicken your heart
 |
| This is what comes; shuck your oysters now, children. |
These boardwalk slats intermittently
visible where the sand, like an hourglass’s
pinch, seeps between chinks, free-
handing straight lines that stop without fuss —
then fill again, as the wind wills it.
The beach path cuts through undulate
dune land where wild rose, marram grass
cover the scene like a pelt
of shifting greens, or rippled sea of bent
and tapered stalks. To step off
the path’s to severely threaten
what a modest plaque declares ‘this fragile balance.’ If
my affection’s bending toward you seems
or feels ever just a blind, predetermined
consequence of random winds,
think of here: our land’s end, streams
of ocean mist weighed down your curls,
spritzed your cheeks and lids, made both
our jeans sag and stick. The shore birds’
reasons blow through us too, but underneath
or way above our range of
understanding . . . even caring. I’ll
pass this sight of you — soggy, in love
with me, bent to inspect and feel
the petals of something tiny, wild, nestled
among the roots and moss — over
the projector of my fluctuating self if ever
life’s thin, rigid narrowness
requests my heart be small. You taught
and teach me things. Most alive when grit
makes seeing hard, scrapes the lens
through which what’s fixed is seen to weaken.
Great, now read it again and thank yourself in the morning.
The dead, risen
Ah, hello, my few dear readers. Lay your worries to bed, I'm back from one and a half months of academic grind, and not (as many may have suspected) putrefying in a boggy pit somewhere. So yes, relax. Take a breath. Hold it. Release. Better? Very good.
Have finished the last of my M.A. coursework, a large paper about the French alcoholism-recovery group Vie Libre - their causal model of alcoholism (quite unlike A. A., they place the blame for alcoholism on society and broader patterns of class exploitation), the ways they place and limit responsibility for the illness, the ways in which individual members may hold different models from the doctrinal, and what this might imply about the authenticity of our knowledge and the foundations of ethical action. I await my final mark in this, my dark corner, cloistered and grim, though some initial feedback bodes well. With that behind me, I've started on with my PhD, which'll keep on with those same themes just mentioned.
And that's enough about me. For any who may be interested, I'll be posting the paper in sections over the next little while; each section has at least minimal thematic coherence on its own, but I'd encourage those intrigued to read them in order.
I think I'll take a break and watch Tommy Carcetti lose his way for a few hours. All the best, hypocrite lecteurs.
Have finished the last of my M.A. coursework, a large paper about the French alcoholism-recovery group Vie Libre - their causal model of alcoholism (quite unlike A. A., they place the blame for alcoholism on society and broader patterns of class exploitation), the ways they place and limit responsibility for the illness, the ways in which individual members may hold different models from the doctrinal, and what this might imply about the authenticity of our knowledge and the foundations of ethical action. I await my final mark in this, my dark corner, cloistered and grim, though some initial feedback bodes well. With that behind me, I've started on with my PhD, which'll keep on with those same themes just mentioned.
And that's enough about me. For any who may be interested, I'll be posting the paper in sections over the next little while; each section has at least minimal thematic coherence on its own, but I'd encourage those intrigued to read them in order.
I think I'll take a break and watch Tommy Carcetti lose his way for a few hours. All the best, hypocrite lecteurs.
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